Words Are Knives
by fbis.most.unwanted
Summary: Teenlock AU: "Freak" is a word often used to describe Sherlock. He usually brushes it off, but what if he is nothing more than a freak? John is running out of time -can he save Sherlock from himself?


Sherlock Holmes sits in the back of the classroom, stealing glances at the clock ticking on the wall behind him. His mind drifts between subjects –it's not like he really needs to pay attention. It's chemistry; Sherlock could probably teach the class and go more in-depth with the lesson than the teacher.

Sherlock's attention somehow does return to the teacher, but he is not focusing on her words. There's something… off, but what?

Sherlock smiles to himself –it's her wedding ring; she's not wearing it. _It could be being cleaned –or repaired- but separation is more likely. If it were broken, she would not have worn it the day before, and it didn't appear dirty. _

At long last, the shrill cry of the bell ringing pierces the air. Sherlock gathers his books and takes brisk strides out of the room, ducking his head in an attempt to avoid others. He makes a beeline for his locker, which resides at the end of the hall.

Standing out against the blue paint on the lockers, is a word: FREAK. Sherlock sighs, using his thumbnail as he tries to chip it off. No use; the paint remains fixed, a constant reminder of what his classmates think of Sherlock. He shoves a few books into his bag and slams the locker door, putting the lock back in its proper place.

Sherlock throws his bag over one shoulder and pulls out his book. Holding the pages in front of his face, he makes his way out the door, occasionally looking away from his reading just to make sure he is heading in the right direction. As Sherlock passes through a crowd of students, someone must have recognized him.

"Freak," they snicker, knocking the books out of his arms. Someone sticks their leg out, and before Sherlock can react, he is flat on his stomach. The crowd erupts in laughter as they slap congratulatory high fives. Finished tormenting Sherlock for now, the group disperses.

Sherlock brings himself to his knees, his hands finding his split lip, which has begun to bleed again. He shrugs it off –he's used to this sort of thing.

"Are you alright?" John Watson crouches down across from Sherlock, handing some of his books to him. John doesn't know the boy, but he seems familiar –John's seen him somewhere. John thinks they might share a class, but he isn't completely sure.

Sherlock raises his eyes to find a short, blond-haired boy in front of him. Why is he here? No one ever gives Sherlock a second thought, much less helps him.

Sherlock's mind begins its deductions as it always does –it's become so natural that it has become a part of routine.

_Athletic, judging by the laces of the trainers in his bag. Clothing is composed of hand-me-downs –poor financial state? _

His deductions are stopped when it becomes apparent to Sherlock that he hasn't answered the question presented.

"Yeah," Sherlock answers. "I'm-I'm fine."

"What happened to your face?" John asks as the two stand up, Sherlock's books in his arms once again. John takes note of the bruises clouding his right eye and the blood on his mouth.

"I'm just clumsy," Sherlock says. It's a lie, and Sherlock can tell that the blond boy doesn't believe it, but he isn't asking further questions. Sherlock wipes the few remaining drops of blood from his lower lip.

John nods, though he doesn't believe a word of it.

"Thank you," Sherlock says. The words feel awkward as they cut through the air. They feel foreign, probably because no one does anything for Sherlock that warrants an expression of gratitude (with the exception of birthdays and Christmases celebrated with his family).

"No problem," John replies. "I'm John."

"Sherlock," he says.

"Well, I guess I'll see you around," John says, realizing that he is supposed to be home soon.

"Sure," Sherlock responds, the faintest hint of surprise creeping up into the statement. What does that mean? Is John saying that he plans on seeing Sherlock again? Or was his it merely a polite expression of parting? Obviously, neither human nature nor social conventions are easily grasped by Sherlock.

Puzzles and riddles –anything dealing with complex thought processes, really- are simple in comparison to unraveling the intricate web woven by the enigmatic yet capricious human race.

But what does it _mean_? Sherlock knows he may be overanalyzing this, but something like this has never happened before. Does this mean John intends on forming a friendship? Sherlock has never had a friend before.

That isn't surprising, though. After all, who would want to associate themselves with a freak?


End file.
